Hangover
by katryne
Summary: SeiferxSquall. Two guys plus plot contrivance multiplied with alcohol equals love.


Hangover by katryne

[Summary: Roomies!]

Pairing: Seifer/Squall

Humour, a bit of angst, some attempt at smut

**Rated a Hard R for… stuff**

**=======================**

**WARNING! THIS IS A YAOI/SHOUNEN-AI/SLASH/TWO GUYS AND NO GIRL FIC. **

**DO NOT READ THIS IF THIS AIN'T YOUR CUP OF YOUR BEVERAGE OF CHOICE**

**YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!**

**Caveat Emptor**

**=============================**

If there was one thing most people had learned to do these days, it was to avoid Squall Leonhart, fearless (and feared) SeeD Commander, at all costs. Only the suicidal would attempt anything.

By suicidal, we are of course referring to repentant SeeD/current object of intense historical revision, Seifer Almasy. 

Maybe Ultimecia screwed with his head one too many times.

Or it could just be Squall just had a massive pole up his ass.

Hey, he said it. Only relaying the message here.

Ok, pretty much jumping in the middle of the story here, aren't we?

Right, you want a beginning. Ok, there's this bunch of kids, who were trained as soldiers right, and then there's this crazy bitch from the future who came and messed everything up and—

Wait, wait, too far in the beginning. A little later. Like really later. Like how-are-they-roomies-in-the-first-place later.

That would be after the crazy bitch was defeated, and the brown-haired hero got himself a girl and everybody was happy (or stuck in some pier somewhere, fishing).

Except the hero was gay, the girl was unhappy, they broke up, she married his dad (the tabloids had a field day with _that one_) and apparently, fishing wasn't fun if there was no destructive detonation involved. 

So,  Seifer Almasy thus returned from… wherever he had been. Squall grunted in response, Seifer needled him some more, and everyone settled back and enjoyed the fireworks.

Oh, don't tell me you didn't notice the sheer _chemistry_ between the two? It's positively _delicious_.

It's the stuff trashy romances are made of. 

Ok, so we have the main protagonists. We get the tension, the chemistry, the unacknowledged attraction. What we don't get is why, for a building this size, why in Balamb Garden is Seifer sharing a room with our (dearest) surly Commander?

You'd think that if they were sharing accommodations, the Commander would be a lot cheerier and everyone's lives would be much better (heheh). Except, he isn't, and the only one grinning is one unrepentant Seifer Almasy (at least, unrepentant in regards of totally annoying Squall Leonhart in any way he could).

So how did Seifer Almasy, the aforementioned remorseful yet unabashed (in regards in annoying Squall Leonhart, respected SeeD Commander) SeeD come to share the same lodgings with the currently very much exasperated SeeD Commander?

Hmm, you know, the details are pretty vague. Let's just call it Plot Contrivance #1: A mysterious renovation has caused a shortage in accommodations, affecting everyone (and I mean _everyone_; Quistis was no longer sure who she'll kill first, Zell or Selphie), thus creating the present situation.

All right, so that's the why. Now comes the 'and then what?'

And that's where the fun starts.

------------------

There was just no point being the hero of the emancipated masses, when you couldn't even have your own damn room to yourself, Squall thought sourly as he surveyed the mess of his apartment. Seifer had turned out to be an appalling houseguest, whether by nature (quite likely) or by design (even likelier).

And he didn't even have the decency to be around, while Squall stood in the middle of the living room, stewing with impotent displeasure bordering on rage.  The mess surrounding him was too much for his orderly disposition to take. Maybe he's anal, so what? It's his fucking apartment, and what the hell was that stuck to his shoes?

Argh.

His fingers were reflexively clenching around the hilt of his gunblade. _Calm down Leonhart. If there's a murder committed tonight, it'll still be one murder too many._

But the thought… was so… tantalising. More so as he moved to throw the offending candy wrapper down the rubbish bin.

His hands were itching, tingling, unwilling to settle.  He scratched his wrist absently as he looked around the room again. _I will not clean up the fucker's mess… the only one cleaning up will be HIM, cleaning after himself…._

He was horrified to discover his body was operating independently from his mind and had begun fluffing back the cushions on the couch. 

NO NO NO!

_It's all a matter of the mind,_ he thought desperately. _If I start now, he'll assume I'll be the maid, and surely, surely I can't be bothered by all this… untidiness… I can still work. I don't need everything to be so compulsively neat to live._

_Right?_

Of course. It was a matter of principle. If he caved in on this, there was no telling what else that wretched blond would come up with next.

At that point, it was safe to say that Squall's mind began to unravel. Fortunately, future mad disasters ("SeeD Commander on Cleanliness Murdering Rampage, news at 10") were averted by the opportune opening of the apartment doors.

"Honey, I'm home!" the voice, in an impossible combination of cheery-but-with-a-heavy-layer-of-sneering, called out.

Grunt.

"Aww baby, missed me?" 

Grunt.

"I'm touched."

Silence.

"Now what are you doing, standing there in a suggestive position with the pillow?" The sneer turned into a leer. "You could always come to me."

A beat. Grunt grunt hrmph.

"Well, carry on. I'll just go take a shower. Just don't leave a stain on the cushion now. It would be a mess."

A blond breeze passed Squall by. Not too soon after, the sound of the shower could be heard from Seifer's room.

Argh!

----------------

Seifer Almasy was having waay too much fun, for someone who was officially homeless. Sure, he had no accommodations to speak of, people still looked at him strange and instinctually move away as far as they can whenever he's around and he _knew _those stupid paparazzi were still hanging about outside the Garden (not that Cid's official announcement to not allow them was ever a deterrent; but ever since that fateful 'accident' in the Training Room, they know better to trust any building that contains T-Rexaurs in them).

But. 

But in a way that could only make sense to Seifer (or really, just about anyone who's finally resigned that their heart and their brain could sometime experience a breakdown in communication), he was rooming with Squall Leonhart and that made it ALL OKAY.

So what if the guy had now taken to snarling at him instead of using actual words? He could work with that.  He was actually beginning to see a pattern and was well on his way to becoming the only reigning expert on the language of the Grunt (and other Assorted Non-Verbal Sounds) of Squall Leonhart, SeeD Commander. Hell, he was becoming an expert on Squall, period.

Take this very instance for example.  The shower may have drowned out most of Squall's mutterings but he knew, just as he knew that ice was cold, fire was hot and despite reason, he loved Squall, that Squall was angry.

Frothing-in-the-mouth kind of angry.

And he didn't even have to order pizza from the cafeteria yet. Or invite Zell for an all-hotdog orgy.

_Hyne__, his eyes…_ Seifer thought helplessly. The brunet's stormy greys were flashing with barely suppressed rage, his colour high in his cheeks and his chest heaving trying to control his temper.

_Seifer__, you sick pervert…_

Such a bad idea to be jacking off to that image with your object of your affection barely 20 steps away, but his hand moved inexorably lower. He hissed touching himself and bit his lip fighting for control long ago lost.

It didn't take long, and some part of him that still knew shame urged him faster, to finish this quickly before… before…

_Oh, Squall…_

The shower would never run out of hot water, but Seifer still felt cold. He quickly turned it off, watching his spunk swirl down the sinkhole.

_Fucking stupid idea, Almasy, to fall in love with your rival_.

But hey, then there wouldn't be this story, won't it?

--------------------------

Dinner was an unpleasant surprise. Having dinner in his own quarters was a luxury that Squall often missed, even in the so-called 'times of peace'. Too much work and not enough time, not to mention the added headache of this stupid 'Garden renovation' which he himself wasn't clear about. Too often he would just have his late supper (like his late lunch) in his office. He had, as officers before him had and after him will, perfected the art of not leaving crumbs and stains on any important documents.

He would never admit to anyone else, but his secret habit when eating alone in his own quarters was to be as messy as he could get away with.

Of course, this little habit collided harshly with his innate desire to be better than Seifer.

Yes, Seifer's appalling manners extended to the dinner table as well.

Dinner was an exercise in supreme patience.  Squall was a creature of neatly ordered habits (he had a ritual for everything). These habits did not include swearing loudly at the screen. Or making lewd comments about the news.

Seifer's blatant fork-waving was making him clutch his cutlery that much harder, and that much tidier. He had never paid such close attention to vegetables before.

Suffice to say, Seifer was slowly driving him up the wall, again. 

There was tic under his left eye, that by the throbbing of it, he just knew would turn into a full-scale headache very very soon.

The sight of a broccoli skewered upon a very enthusiastically waved fork was not helping his impending migraine.

"Would you please stop it," he gritted out.

The broccoli stopped moving. It was better for everyone concerned if he kept on looking at the piece of vegetable instead of that stupid smirking face.

"You don't sound very convincing."

It would take less time for him to behead the blond with his plate than coming up with a decent answer, but for the sake of civility, he merely continued, "it's making me really really uncomfortable."

Silence. He was fully expecting the return of the Animated Broccoli.

"Oh, sorry."

The broccoli disappeared. Squall blinked. Where did it go? 

It was back on Seifer's plate, looking nothing like a broccoli that was nearly about to achieve flight a moment ago.

Did Seifer just say sorry?

Did Seifer just stop?

Squall gave a confused grunt and continued his meal.

The peace did not continue for long. But this time, a piece of asparagus was being waved underneath his nose.

"You ok? Wanna talk about it?"

He wasn't sure what the etiquette was for eating an asparagus microphone, but he was seriously considering it.

The thought that Seifer might take that as flirting turned out to be a pretty effective deterrent.

But he couldn't eat, dammit, unless the asparagus moved away.

This would require talking.

Would Seifer settle for a shrug?

Well, the asparagus was gone, but the blond was still talking. Still asking.

"Look, it's been a long day ok? Galbadia is still unsettled, there's a new splinter cell rising, Cid is talking about retirement, those fucking media vans are still camped outside, and—" Squall was working up a good steam of irritated rage when he finally looked at Seifer's face. And faltered.

Seifer looked as uncomfortable as he felt, beneath the half-smirk. His eyes were bright, not with confidence, but… (terror?)

Was Seifer simply trying to make conversation?

That implied a level of friendliness that Squall didn't think existed in the post-Sorceress madness. "And… and I… I'm sorry, it's just been a long day," he finished lamely.

"I understand," was the soft answer.

There was a reason Squall hated apologies, and that was because he was so bad at it.

"I'm sorry I lashed out on you."

"Nah, it's ok. You said it yourself. Long day."

"… how was your day?"

Seifer's eyes twinkled and began to answer the question. Sometimes it was eerie how well Seifer understood him.

Who else could recognise the question for the apology it really was?

------------

Three hours and two previously-hidden-but-now-discovered bottles of wine later, Squall found himself on the couch, lounging opposite Seifer.

He was feeling really relaxed, which could be thanks to the said liberated alcohol.

_Oh, come off it, Leonhart. The company isn't too bad either._

Whoa. Squall massaged his temples lightly. He definitely had too much wine.

But there was… a certain charm at half-listening the blond carrying a one-sided conversation with the television set.

Out of the blue, he muttered, "God, I wish I could take the day off."

"Why don't you?"

It really was unfair that between the two of them, he most certainly was not the one with the wooden leg. Trying not to grimace at the still-alert face attentively looking at him, he answered grumpily, "Responsibilities, and all that shit."

"So?"

Squall could only blink and parroted stupidly. "So?"

Seifer shrugged carelessly. "It's not like they'll kill you for taking the day off. And before you say anything about paperwork, I'm sure there other just as efficient paper-pushers in this place."

Squall only grunted noncommittally and continued massaging his temples.

After a while, he offered, "'m too much of a control freak."

Seifer let out a small breath of laughter. "Tell me something I don't know."

He had to smile at that remark. He was definitely drunk.

"Here." Cool fingers began soothing his temple, and he couldn't stop that satisfied sigh.

How did Seifer get so close?

No matter. The sensation was overwhelmingly lovely.

So lovely he did not realise he was gradually moving downwards, his head pillowed by Seifer's lap and lulled by his fingers.

Squall slept.

-----------------------

Squall always prided himself on the fact that his brain is able to wake up immediately. Not for him the groggy after-effects of sleep.

_And this is why alcohol is BAD for you._

He was most emphatically _not_ nuzzling Seifer's stomach.

Those were _not_ Seifer's hands, helplessly twined with his hair.

And he definitely was_ not_ enjoying it.

He did _not_ get up with the grace of a scalded cat, in fact.

But Seifer was looking at him with the mild curiosity of the just awake.

"Squall?"

Squall was not flustered.  "'morning," he said, for lack of anything else.

Seifer was looking at his surroundings stupidly. "Tell me I did not sleep the night on this couch."

"You did not sleep the night on that couch."

"Smartass."

Squall hrmphed, and left for the bathroom.

Once inside, he took a long hard look at his reflection. _Ok, Squall, what just happened?_

_Well, obviously, you just fell asleep on the lap on the single most annoying man you've ever known. Including Zell._

_So, I was just sleeping, right?_

_Only if sleeping means completely making out with his belly button, then yes._

_Shut up._

And that's why you should never hold conversations with your reflection first thing in the morning.

-------------------

Breakfast was, to put it simply, uncomfortable. 

Seifer has discovered fascinating gradations of colour in his omelette. The symmetry of form, shape and colour, the harmony of the tomatoes, chives and onion, complimented by the sprinkled ground pepper –

Really, at that point, he was ready to write a thesis on the simple pleasures of the omelette. Anything but looking in the general direction of the brunet opposite him.

The scrape of the stool against the floor startled him. Unwittingly he looked up. 

In the morning sun, streaming through the blinds, Squall Leonheart was simply the loveliest thing he had ever seen in his (admittedly not very long) life.

His heart may not be able to take more of this romantic bullshit.

He may have stared too long; bright spots of colour appeared on Squall's bemused expression.

Yet he didn't look away, and neither did Squall. 

So much metaphorical sparks it could have burned an entire metaphorical room. 

"Um. Work." And Squall dashed off, so fast he would have collided with the door if it had opened a millisecond too late.

Seifer sighed towards his omelette. It was a good omelette too; too bad he no longer had the appetite for it.

------

For the next few days, the two of them put all their guerrilla skills into good use. Through an unspoken mutual agreement leading to a subtle concert of time management, five days went by without them seeing hair nor hide of each other.

Until Thursday.

Thursday was the day of the annual Balamb Garden Budget. It meant a whole day spent in the meeting room, analysing previous year's budget and outlining expenditure for the upcoming year. Simple enough in theory, until you factor in the fact that every department felt itself to be under-paid and as such would make the appropriate demands for more. It's up then to the committee to evaluate the proposal of each department, and the results announced during the meeting and etc etc etc.

In short, it was fucking boring and extremely tiring.

Squall massaged the back of his neck tiredly as he stepped into his apartment.

Seifer was lounging on the couch, holding a wineglass, half-full. A dark bottle by his feet; from where he stood, Squall couldn't tell just how much of it was gone.

"Squall," Seifer drawled lazily, looking at him with heavy-lidded eyes.

Squall hoped Seifer didn't notice him gulping. "Just how much wine did you have Seifer?" he asked lightly.

"Eh, just working on my second glass. Honest," Seifer said, waving his glass vaguely in the air. He patted the space beside him. "Come sit. It's Budget day today, you must be tired."

He couldn't find any objection that, so Squall sat. Stiffly.

Seifer produced another glass from somewhere, efficiently poured out the wine and presented it to Squall. "Relax, sit back, and enjoy some mindless entertainment." 

Only then Squall noticed the screen in front of them, currently blazing bright flames as something exploded extravagantly.

Two glasses of wine later, the world was a little fuzzier around the edges. Squall belatedly remembered he had not had any dinner. Oh well, too late.

Seifer's fingers were slowly creeping on his nape, settling down to massage his tired muscles. Squall moaned, and giggled, "Seifer, you're drunk."

The Seifer that gazed at him looked especially solemn. "No, but you are." He motioned to his untouched glass on the coffee table in front of them. "I'm a coward Squall, and I needed some Galbadian courage."

His fingers stilled and he tilted Squall's face by the chin. Squall blinked sleepily.

"You're driving me crazy, Leonheart," Seifer said quietly.

"You too," Squall said, trying to match Seifer's mood, and having failed so, giggled a little again.

"Dammit Squall…"

Squall laid a finger on Seifer's lips. Coming closer, he whispered, "I know. You like me. I like you. You're a tactless bastard. I'm an anal-retentive idiot. It will never work."

"At least, not when sober," Squall breathed against Seifer's lips. And kissed him, full of tongue and enthusiasm, messy and exciting.

The kiss was just like how he'd imagine it to be, during the moments which officially never happened.

Too bad it didn't go any further; Squall pulled away only to lay dozing on Seifer's chest.

-------------------------------

_He's a disgrace to the male of the species that's what he is,_ Seifer had grumbled to himself as he carried the limp Commander into his room.

He had arranged the esteemed SeeD on the bed, taking of his boots, his jacket, even wiping his face a little with a wet cloth.

Squall had slept on, oblivious. Oblivious to the world and to the helpless blond tending him, whose lips still tingled with the wine-laced kiss.

_You stupid…beautiful… moron._

And it was just like him, that just as Seifer was about to leave, he had found his arms latched on determinedly by a barely-awake Commander who demanded, no ordered, him to stay.

Which he did. Because he was that helpless blond who was in love with a soldier who could barely hold his liquor.

And he had stayed on. And he had gazed at the man sleeping right next to him, and his heart was so full with so many things, and he slept.

And now he found himself to be the subject of intense scrutiny from an infuriatingly clear-eyed brunet so early in the morning it should be criminal.

"What?" he said grumpily. "It's not like I wanted to stay here, but you wouldn't let my arm go. Asshole."

"Sorry about that," Squall said softly.

"Next time, remind me to feed you first before introducing you to alcohol."

"Ok."

A few more moments passed by. 

Seifer couldn't take any more of it. "WHAT?"

"Nothing. Coffee?"

--------------------------------------------------------------

_Well, this is even more awkward_, Seifer thought sourly, anticipating another week of non-talking. He was unfortunately awake and coherent, thanks to a cold shower and hot coffee.

Strangely, Squall seemed unaffected by the atmosphere. "You sober?" he asked.

"Unfortunately." Seifer nursed his coffee, refusing to look up.

A hand on his wrist made him pause. "Good," he heard Squall say decisively.

"You were trying to get me drunk yesterday," Squall began. Seifer wasn't sure if he should nod in agreement or issue instant denial, so he did nothing. Squall went on, "you were trying to get me drunk, so you could… declare your intentions. And then I kissed you."

"Would've thought you've forgotten that part," he muttered bitterly.

If Squall heard it, he made no sign. But he did move from his seat, and walked around the kitchen island to loom next to Seifer who found his coffee quite interesting.

Suddenly the brunet entered his line of sight; Squall was crouching and was touching his knee. "I kissed you. I kissed you because I like you too, you insufferable ass."

Seifer gripped the hand on his knee ferociously. "Tell me you're not drunk and in danger of inconveniently falling asleep."

Squall just shook his head.

Seifer growled, and pulled Squall up. Wedging a leg between the brunet's thighs, Seifer held him fast against the island. 

"This time, you are NOT falling asleep," he declared.

"Good enough for me," Squall breathlessly replied.

Seifer moved closer. They're breathing in unison, the same air, their lips inches away. "Not that I want to push my luck," Seifer said, enjoying their proximity and Squall's dilated pupils and harsh breaths, "but what brought about this sudden revelation?"

"Eh, I just gave up," Squall still managed flippancy. He then surged forward and landed a chaste kiss. Looking at the blond straight in the eye, he said, "I think I always have, but I just realised it the day after we woke up together." He shrugged. "I was never good at self-introspection."

Seifer laughed. "Good enough."

He initiated their third kiss by setting his lips on the slope of Squall's neck, where it pulsed with the harsh beats of his heart. He could feel each pulse on his lips, strong and thick and heady.

He moved along the shadow of the valley, warm wet kisses followed by cool breaths. The sound of Squall's moans floated down, enveloping him, leading him to madness and violence – sinking his teeth on a vulnerable vein, feeling the blood throbbing on the thin skin on his tongue.

He felt a tug, and parted reluctantly from the patch of skin, that even then was turning into a rosy red posy. Squall's fingers were entangled in his hair, grasping and guiding him back to those lips, those soft pale cherry lips. Unschooled, seductive, trembling, warm and welcoming, he slowly staked claim over that gasping mouth, that gasping pretty mouth, with its seeking tongue and sensitive gums and ticklish palate, a hotbed of nerves just waiting to be charted.

"We really should have done this a long time ago," he moaned.

"What, when we first met?" Squall asked, each word punctuated by harsh gasps.

Seifer whispered, kissing his way to behind Squall's left ear, and enjoying the squirm, "Ok, maybe when we first hit puberty."

"Too late," Squall's eager hands quickly unlaced Seifer's already dishevelled bathrobe, "to think about what ifs." His roaming hands were on Seifer's back, applying, urging for more pressure, while moving wantonly against Seifer's weight.

Seifer complied, cradling Squall's hips, trying to bring them even closer. Squall threw his head back, and he took the opportunity to feast on the exposed neck. He leaned over even more in his leisurely exploration, past the neck and resting on the collarbones, while the hands moved upwards, past the quivering belly and the trembling chest, now circling the stiff nipples, flushed as the skin surrounding it.

By then Squall was semi-spread on the kitchen island, robes long undone, legs lifted and hooked across Seifer's waist, not letting him go. He could hear the chants, "please, please," and decided to take pity on this lovely writhing creature who was half-mad with need.

***

Squall choked on a scream, caught by surprise by the sudden attack of sensation, nearly crying as Seifer applied his thumbs, rubbing and rubbing his nipples, giving him exactly what he wanted and driving him crazy with it. And there were lips, and teeth, and tongue, on his shoulders, nuzzling and tasting it. He adjusted his hips – 

"Oh, Hyne…."

– and there it was, pulsing with blood, stiff with lust, Seifer's cock, sliding against his. He was in a state of frenzy, desperately grinding himself against the owner of those warm lips, which were suckling and sucking, whose hands pinched, pulled and kneaded with no sense of rhythm or method, just urgency. His skin felt as though on fire, and his hands were moving, seeking for something, slick with sweat and uncontrolled.

He was babbling, incoherent sounds, mostly pleas and nothing more. Seifer moved urgently above him, grunting at every downthrust, primal and fierce, barely aware of anything else but them.

Pleasure was close bordering to pain. He trailed his hands, finding new nooks to play, until one finally settled in between the tight press of their bodies, grabbing hold of the source of that unbearable pleasure, the new friction adding more sparks, making their eyes twist even tightly closer.

He felt a slightly bigger hand enclose his, forming a tight tunnel. Faster and faster they moved. Seifer stilled first, his seed exploding wetly on their bellies. The added slickness eased his hand faster, while his balls were teased and fondled, and that pushed him to the edge.  He whimpered at the feeling, sure that every cell had ceased moving as his release took everything out of him.

Chests heaving, limp and sated. Of course he had to protest when he was pulled upright, perched on the kitchen-top by the sheer force of Seifer's will. Those jade green eyes were so close he was certain he was going cross-eyed.

"This means I'm moving into your room right?" the blond grinned.

"Shut up," he said sleepily, chuffing softly against Seifer's neck.

**Epilogue**

And they lived happily every after. And Seifer always made sure he had a bottle of spirits around.

THE END!


End file.
